


Happy Bicentennial

by Laure Alexander (ladyoneill)



Series: The Alpha Series [44]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Food Porn, Male-Female Friendship, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/Laure%20Alexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joyce throws Spike a surprise birthday party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Bicentennial

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on April 24, 1999, for Saber's birthday challenge to write about Joyce throwing a b-day party for Spike and how she finds out the date, sometime in Season 4 with optional smut. I love the Joyce/Spike friendship (also the more than friendship as I'm one of the like five people on the whole internet who ship them, but not here, this is Spike/Dru.)

Spike raised his cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, exhaling slowly, following it with a sip of cocoa. Stretched out in a lounge chair on the back patio of the Summers' residence, he was watching the stars.

"You know, they've changed over the years. Stars die out and are born, asteroid belts shift, space gas moves across the galaxy...Everything changes...'cept me, of course."

"Oh, I think you've changed a lot from the demon who tried to kill my daughter two years ago," Joyce replied from her own lounge chair.

"Mellowed have I?" he asked, his voice devoid of mirth.

"Maybe returned to the man you were before the years of Drusilla's illness drove you to such desperation." They had talked several times about how his lover's illness had nearly driven him mad with the need to find a cure, had brought him to Sunnydale and up against Buffy.

Joyce had forgiven him for trying to kill her daughter on several occasions. Spike had responded with a quick grin and forgiving her for birthing a slayer.

And so had begun their weekly Sunday night cocoa clatches.

Spike snorted lightly and sighed. "Dru's not talking to me again. She hates that I'm helping the Slayer."

"You gave your word and you're a man of honor. If she can't see that, it's her loss."

Chuckling, he replied, "Only you, Joycie, would see ME as a man of honor."

"Oh, come on, even demons have honor surely."

Slowly he nodded, admitting the truth. "Of a sort, usually to each other. Drusilla doesn't see any reason for me to keep my promise to a human." He shrugged his shoulders and took another drink sucking in a mini marshmallow.

"So, any specific reason she isn't talking to you this time?"

"I neglected to tell her that Angel was back in town yesterday," he replied sourly. "Hells bells, if I had to hear her moan about that sod for another hour...Luckily the sun went down and I just walked out on her in mid moan."

"I believe I've mentioned how irrational she seems?" Joyce said delicately.

Spike just sighed into his cocoa. "Being insane will do that to a person. Another thing to hate nancy boy for."

"Well...she always forgives you, Spike...or just forgets."

"I know. Hate sleeping without her, y'know. Kind of get used to a person sharing your bed after a hundred years."

"That must be nice." Joyce blushed at his smirk. "I meant, to have that kind of love and devotion for so long. Few humans even get fifty years together."

Spike noted the hint of sorrow in her voice and reached over and caressed the back of her hand. "Your husband was a fool, Joyce."

"Still is," she said with a slight laugh. "We can't help with whom we fall in love."

"You can say that again. For sixty odd years, I drifted from night to night, a lady here, a whore there, then Angelus introduced me to this little slip of a thing, all eyes and dark hair, and my undead heart leapt into her tiny white hands. And now, tomorrow, I'll be two hundred years old and she's pissed at me again. Won't even celebrate my bicentennial with me."

"Two hundred? You were born in 1799?"

Spike shook his head and stubbed out the remains of his cigarette. "We tend to celebrate the anniversary of our rebirth. My real birthday was...damn...sometime in June, 1773. I took a wrong turn down a secluded path in St. James Park on my way home from my club, and there he was, all teeth and testosterone. I didn't even realize he had been stalking me for nearly two weeks."

"Why did he choose you?" she asked, curious.

"Not for delicate ears, luv."

Joyce laughed. "I'm a forty year old, divorced mother in the art world, Spike. I don't shock."

"Angelus liked my cheekbones...and the way my tight satin breeches molded to my...private parts."

She giggled again, trying not to spill her remaining cocoa. "Does my daughter know her former boyfriend swings both ways."

"He doesn't swing at all these days," Spike replied with a joyful smirk on his lips. "Poor bastard's so afraid of losing his soul. If I actually cared, I'd mention to him that he'd probably be so worried during the whole thing that he'd never be able to enjoy himself."

Joyce giggled again, very amused at the picture in her head of Angel moaning and worrying while he had sex with a faceless girl. "I think there was too much whiskey in this last batch of cocoa. I really shouldn't be picturing my daughter's ex having sex. That might lead to really icky thoughts about him and Buffy."

"Icky and the poof really do go together."

They both burst into laughter and Joyce reached for the whiskey bottle, pouring them each a full mug.

*****

Late the next afternoon, finally free of a blistering hangover, Joyce snuck into the mansion carrying two bulging plastic bags and wearing a large cross around her neck. For some unknown reason she trusted Spike, but that trust did not extend to his loony lover.

Finding the dining room, she tsked at the amount of dust on everything and set the bags on the floor. Leaving momentarily for the kitchen, she returned with cleaning supplies and set about making the mahogany table and chairs, the sideboard and the hard wood floors gleam.

An hour later, she stepped back and admired her handiwork. The wood was polished until you could see your reflection--if you had one, that is. A white linen cloth was spread on the table upon which at one end she had placed crystal and silver from the cabinets. Candles in crystal holders sat on the table and sideboard and she pulled a lighter out and lit them, then dimmed the chandelier.

A bucket full of ice sat on a stand, a bottle of champagne chilling. A chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday' written in pink icing sat on the sideboard on a glass cake plate.

Joyce knew of Spike's love for chocolate.

Placing a bouquet of red roses in the middle of the table, Joyce stood back and surveyed the room with a critical eye, then tugged carefully at one corner of the table cloth, smoothing out a wrinkle.

"You're the Slayer's mummy," a lilting, feminine voice came from behind her.

Joyce spun around, her heart racing. She'd hoped for this, but now her natural fear of vampires threatened to send her running into the setting sun. "Yes."

Drusilla leaned against the door jam, her pose languid, wearing a black silk negligee, the robe hanging loose from her shoulders. "Are we having a party?" she asked, curious.

"Um, you and Spike are. It's his birthday.

Understanding crossed the vampiress' face as she remembered. "My love is two centuries old tonight. The years weigh on him. He needs my caress to make him young."

"And, will you?" Joyce asked boldly.

Smiling, Drusilla ran one hand down her body to rest it on her hip. "I can never stay angry at him for long." A lusty gleam filled her eyes. "Tonight I will make him feel young and carefree again, without nasty thoughts of helping the Slayer or sad thoughts of daddy."

"Good, good, you do that. There's champagne and chocolate cake. You enjoy yourselves," Joyce said as she backed slowly towards the other door."

Drusilla gave a tinkling laugh and waved. "Are you sure you don't want to stay and join us? You're pretty, not ugly like the nasty Slayer."

"Um, no, but thank you." Joyce beat a hasty retreat, racing through the house and out into the early evening and the safety of her car.

******

"Drusilla," Spike called, wandering through the huge mansion, trying to deny the spark of fear the silence induced. Surely she wouldn't have gone outside before the sun set. Maybe she had gone hunting. He had overslept--staying awake till afternoon, unable to find a comfortable position on the lumpy sofa in the library. He hadn't even bothered to try to gain access to her bed, and no other bed felt right without her.

As he walked down the hallway to the kitchen, he heard a sound from the dining room and quickly opened the door. The sight before him boggled his mind.

The room was lit by candles, the table at one end set with china and crystal, champagne chilling, and the smell of roses and chocolate in the air...and his black goddess lay naked on the empty end of the long table, writing across her stomach with blue icing in a tube.

Drusilla looked up and smiled. "The Slayer's mummy has a wicked mind. I like her. I picked up this little squirty bottle and got the nastiest images of what she wanted me to do with it."

She spread her arms wide and, as he neared her, he could make out what she had written across her pale flesh. 'Happy Birthday, Spike'. Struck speechless, Spike gaped at a 'p' around one rosy nipple and the 'a' in 'birthday' around the other.

"Do you want to eat your present, my Spike?"

"...No longer mad at me, pet?" he asked, his voice hoarse with sudden need.

"You have been punished enough. You may have your cake now."

Leaning down, Spike licked the icing off from around one nipple, making them both moan in pleasure. Drusilla's fingers twined through his hair and she arched against him. Pulling back long enough to yank his t-shirt over his head and shuck his jeans, Spike climbed on the table, settling between her spread legs, rubbing his erect cock against her wet cleft.

He licked at her other nipple, making it harden as he cleaned the icing from her, then moved his mouth down over her stomach, erasing his name in hard swipes of his tongue until she bucked and moaned beneath him. Drusilla's hands slid over his shoulders and back, kneading his hard flesh, as her knees rose to clench him to her.

"Pet...Dru," he groaned as she undulated against him, rubbing his throbbing cock against her clit.

"Make love to princess, Spike," she begged in a tremulous voice.

Lifting his head, his lips smeared with icing, Spike covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply, as he rubbed the rest of the letters off with his chest. With a groan of need, he sank into her, burying his cock in her icy depths.

Drusilla's legs wrapped around his waist and she keened his name. He thrust again, harder, making the table shake as he began the quick, smooth rhythm she liked. Digging her nails into his shoulders, Drusilla rose to meet him, grinding her clit against the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

Their eyes open, they watched the lust and love cross each other's face. They listened to the hisses of pleasure and the sounds of hard flesh meeting soft, their bodies long accustomed to each others. The scent of musk filled the air, mingling with the roses and the chocolate.

Spike felt his lover's inner muscles clamp down on his throbbing flesh and watched her face twist in need. As she shuddered into orgasm, crying his name, Spike flung his head back and thrust hard, howling as he came.

As he sank down next to her, Drusilla whimpered in satisfaction and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Happy birthday, my love."

"...Thank you, Dru." Turning onto his side, he ran his tongue over the remaining icing on her breast. "You taste good."

Drusilla giggled. "There's champagne and chocolate cake, your favorite. The nasty Slayer's mummy's nice."

"Yes, she is," Spike murmured, sitting up so he could reach the champagne. She's a good friend.

End


End file.
